


The Most Beautiful Medium

by Otonymous



Category: SLBP - Fandom, Samurai Love Ballad Party - Fandom, Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY, 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos | Samurai Love Ballad (Visual Novel)
Genre: Body Paint, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: Poetry makes for one hot night with Lord Akechi Mitsuhide!





	The Most Beautiful Medium

**Author's Note:**

> Another first! This time, it’s trying my hand at smut. Mitsuhide is my absolute favourite lord in SLBP, and I hope this fic does him justice!

“Darling, I’m sorry.”

Lord Mitsuhide turns to look at the overturned tray by the doors to his study, a dark shadow over the tatami where the spilt tea had long since absorbed. His azure eyes harbour a hint of guilt when they pan back to gaze earnestly into your own, his head propped up on his elbow on the floor as a sheepish grin spreads across his lips. The flickering lamplight softens his masculine features, and you smile to think of how you will never tire of seeing his face above yours.

“Don’t apologize, milord. I couldn’t be happier for the way things turned out.” You indicate your bare bodies, limbs still entwined upon a heap of discarded clothing, with a flourish of your hand.

“You must think me absolutely dreadful for accosting you like I did, when all you wanted was to bring me a midnight snack. It’s just that…I lose all semblance of self-control when it comes to you. It’s not an excuse, I know. But please, let me make it up to you. Name it, anything you want at all!”

You nestle your head against Mitsuhide’s chest, letting the sound of his slowing heartbeat regulate your own as you contemplate his question. It was a difficult one to answer after all, when the gentle samurai had already given you the world when he entrusted you with his heart. So you reply simply, “A poem.”

Mitsuhide’s brows lift in surprise, but the flash of pleased contentment in his features doesn’t escape your eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before he rises, whispering, “As my lady wishes.”

His large hands move gently across your skin to settle you onto your front, ensuring your head is sufficiently cushioned by his kimono beneath you. Eyes focused on the painted scroll hanging in the tokonoma, the sound of your lover’s every rustling movement from behind sends a jolt of anticipation through your body: the rhythmic grind of the inkstick against stone, the thoughtful selection of a calligraphy brush, the shifting of limbs as Mitsuhide positions himself over your prostrate body, a fertile canvas hungry for the seeds of his inspiration.

You start to squirm almost imperceptibly for want of his touch, a furious blush rising to your face when you think on how your thighs are squeezing together so soon after having been thoroughly fucked already once this evening. Pressing the flesh of your palm against your lips, you muffle a chuckle at the thought of the infectious nature of Mitsuhide’s passion.

“Ahh!” The dip of the soft hairs of his brush between your shoulder blades abruptly steals the breath from your laughter, your back involuntarily arching up in a crescent to match that of the moon outside. You sense rather than see the seductive smile that surely must have spread over Mitsuhide’s face, his cock pressing insistently between your buttocks as he straddles your hips, the brush continuing its sensual slide along the contours of your body under the guidance of his sure hand.

Mitsuhide is entranced as he watches the minute bend and recoil of your supple flesh under the manipulation of each stroke, the warmth of your skin seeming to enchant the ink and breathe life into every character. He takes his time, relishing the tiny goosebumps that form and recede in a swath alongside his meandering brush while casting intermittent glances at your face, his breath hitching to see the veil of ecstasy over its features. You close your eyes, struggling to keep still despite the overwhelming impulse in your hips to lift up and back to rub coquettishly against the hardness of your lover’s defined torso.

“You have the most beautiful skin.” Mitsuhide sets his brush down before bending over you once more to examine his work, softly blowing heated breath over your sensitive skin to hasten the drying ink. “Far too good for my undeserving words, I’m afraid.”

“You’re too modest, Lord Mitsu—“. The words catch in your throat as his lips suddenly cover your own from behind, turning into sighs as you feel the slide of his hand around your breast, your nipple caught between the rolling pinches of his thumb and forefinger.

“I should like to see your body flushed pink against the black ink. Would that be ok, my love?”

Already quivering with anticipation, you nod obediently in response to his question, whispered in your ear as he traces kisses along the lines of your neck and jaw. Lowering your head once more to the makeshift pillow on the tatami, you make to settle yourself comfortably in preparation for the onslaught of Mitsuhide’s unbridled passion.

You feel the kneading grip of his battle-worn hands, calloused palms gradually spreading your ass cheeks wide as he positions his impossibly hard cock at your entrance, the smooth head gliding along the length of your slick folds to whet your appetite for second helpings.

“Hah!” The gasp leaves you unbidden as Lord Mitsuhide buries himself to the hilt within you with one insistent thrust, the force of his groin against your backside pressing you even harder against the floor. Your hands blindly reach for something, anything, to bite onto in a bid to stem the licentious moans escaping your lips; an exercise in futility really, given that more and more of your self-control was being relinquished with every punishing drive of his cock deeper towards the pit of your stomach.

There, in Mitsuhide’s study, caught between the vice of the tatami floor and the relentless pounding of your Lord’s increasingly heated body, your mind unravels. You barely register the panting breaths of his exertion in your hair, or that his hand has slowly snaked around your hip to spread your wetness in slow circles between your legs until the sensation makes you clench around him, eliciting a satisfied groan from his lips.

Mitsuhide presses an affectionate kiss to the nape of your neck to settle your trembling body after your second climax of the night. Drawing himself up to kneeling, you feel the hot trickle of his release overflow onto your thigh as he leaves your body.

“So what of my poem?” You finally think to ask when you recover, snuggling into the warmth of his arms.

“Ah yes, I was so lost in my enjoyment of it that I nearly forgot it was meant for you.” His fingertips lightly trace the length of your back, following the neat lines from one column to the next as he recites:

“The most beautiful flower  
Has yet to match  
The loveliness of the bloom  
Of your face in desire.”

A wide smile spreads across your lips, your heart already racing again at Mitsuhide’s words.

“But what of the most important thing of all? Have you written the poet’s name, to mark me as his own?”

His hand continues its slow descent in response, only stopping when it reaches the dampness of his release between your legs.

“That, I have already done.”


End file.
